Don't Hide Your Love
by Frensayce
Summary: Smutty upload from my livejournal. A Halloween party reveals more than either girl was expecting.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Don't Hide Your Love  
><strong>Author:<strong> Frensayce  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Rachel/Quinn  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Everything prior to "The First Time" but kinda AU  
><strong>Disclaimers:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>AN:** Halloween prompt from forever ago. From my livejournal, here for you. :)

She blamed Kurt. And Tina. This misfortune could have easily been avoided if they'd just abided by her instructions instead of taking things into their own hands and sewing machines.

It began weeks ago. Noah's annual Halloween party was by invitation only and finally she'd received one, personally. She could have done without the leering and lewd suggestions the mohawked young man made, but it was rather flattering. It was nice to feel desired, more so now that she and Finn were done for good. Whatever spark they'd had sputtered out and extinguished before it had a chance to reignite. They agreed to be friends. They worked better like that anyway.

What was not working, however, was the costume she'd been planning in the meanwhile. Rachel's mind rolled back to Kurt Hummel and Tina Cohen-Chang. Enlisting them for their knowledge of design and fashion did not turn out to be the brilliant idea she'd assumed. Kurt constantly volunteered his candid critiques, as expected, while Tina took measurements, accompanied her to pick out the rich ebony fabric, cut the pattern, then sewn and fitted the dress within a hairsbreadth of her petite figure, thus creating the gorgeous gown she was _supposed _to be wearing tonight. Nevertheless, Kurt, as he was wont to do, interfered when Rachel wasn't looking.

Now, the virtue of her elegant Victorian inspired dress was besmirched and unsalvageable, dismantled and resembling the outfit she wore in attempt to seduce her ex-boyfriend during their sophomore year, the day before he called her a sad clown hooker. Gone were the floor length petticoats, slashed by a snooty schoolboy with scissors and a seam ripper, leaving it shorter than the candy striper getup Santana wore around school during that strange mononucleosis epidemic. She remembered it because it was bizarre, not because she found the sight of caramel colored toned legs and the sway of the cheerleader's hips appealing.

She sighed, spotting the snarky young woman across the room. Santana was beautiful, but too much of a bitch for Rachel to hold any real attraction. Well, that may not be all true. There was one bitch the brunette couldn't get out of her head. Her thoughts drifted to the person whom constantly pervaded her mind before she pushed them away. Thinking about the latest object of her romantic obsession was futile so she returned her attention to Santana, appraising her costume. Dressing as Amy Winehouse not only complimented her dark good looks, but was a fitting tribute to the late artist she idolized. She sincerely hoped Santana was wearing a wig, otherwise she saw a hellish deep conditioning treatment in her future.

Suddenly, Super Girl flew in from nowhere holding two shot glasses and wearing a big smile. "Hi, Rachel!"

The brunette started. Her persona for the evening was of course in homage to Broadway: going to a costume party as Christine Daaé from _Phantom of the Opera_ was an obvious choice—the show's masquerade ball was a pivotal scene—but adding the Venetian mask was her own Rachel Berry twist on the character. Pastel lavender to match the accents of her black, off-the-shoulder dress, it had a mosaic of hand sewn black beads and gold sequins and tied around her head with two strips of black ribbon. More than the traditional eye mask, but less than a full face one, the faux fur lined accessory covered almost her entire visage. It revealed enough of her mouth to speak and drink, but her identity remained protected. She was positive no one would guess she came as the heroine of the legendary musical, thus winning the competition she was sure happened at such parties, but when she saw the full disguise in her bedroom mirror, she wondered if anyone would be able to recognize her as herself, either.

"How did you know it was me?"

Brittany shrugged. "Easy-peasy. You're so uptight and your body looks all statue-y and stuff." The tall blonde threw back a shot of the clear liquid she held, then offered the other glass to Rachel. "You should really relax. Or else tonight you're gonna be you instead of a slutty princess."

The diva's mouth dropped open. Agreed, her outfit concealed very little, less than her normal skirts or the little black dress she'd worn for glee club's exercise in theatricality, but she didn't think she looked like a harlot, royal or not. "A slutty princess?"

"A really _hot_ slutty princess. You look better when you're not yourself." Drunk already, Santana emphasized her arrival with a bump of her hip against Rachel's. "And haven't you seen _Mean Girls_? Halloween is the perfect excuse to look as slutty as you can without being judged."

The often-bullied girl shook her head, a few loose curls falling forward from her ornately styled bun. "Forgive me for avoiding that particular film in order to preserve what little optimism about high school I have left."

Santana rolled her eyes. "First rule of not being Rachel Berry, stop talking. Or at the very least, keep it to one or two words, okay Princess Sleeps-Around-A-Lot?"

"Santana! That's highly offensive."

"Whatever." Grabbing the glass from Brittany, and instead of downing it herself, she pushed it toward Rachel, who refused. "Get over yourself already. See those two by Beyoncé and Jay-Z over there?"

Brown eyes followed to where Santana indicated. Costumed as described, Mercedes Jones and her boyfriend whose name Rachel could never remember stood next to a couple whom evidently forgot they were in public, or perhaps didn't care. The make-out session between the Teen Wolf with glasses and yellow-wigged Barbie Doll was not pretty. It was sloppy and gross.

"That's Jewfro and Sugar Motta. I'll pause so you can swallow back the vomit." She waited, but the disgusting sight hadn't provoked so intense a reaction from Rachel. Her stomach only rolled once.

"Now, you best recognize: Halloween is all about doing things you would normally never do while looking as hot as possible. So, add some sauce to this edible little tart look you're _somehow_ rocking, and drink up." Santana held up the shot again, "One night, princess. Use it or lose it."

Persuaded by the oddly friendly peer pressure, Rachel took the glass and tossed it back like Brittany had done. She gagged. It was revolting. Yet after a few coughs and clearing her throat, it didn't burn as much. The lime the dancer handed her helped, too.

"It's okay. It takes a few before the tequila starts to taste really good." Super Girl pulled a flask out of one of her red boots and refilled the two glasses. She passed it over to Santana who muttered something about how there was nothing like having the good stuff before drinking straight from the small container. Another shot was thrust into Rachel's hand and Brittany raised a toast. "To not being ourselves! Except me, because I'm not even in costume. I really am a superhero."

An adoring smile stretched across the face of Santana Lopez. "Damn right you are, B."

The two shared a look Rachel felt uncomfortable witnessing. It was private and intimate to the extreme, the kind reserved not for lovers necessarily, but for people _in_ love. She wished someone would look at her like that. A specific individual came to mind.

"Santana?"

The black haired girl didn't break away from the fond gaze that was slowly turning into something more. "Huh?"

"Umm, where's Quinn?"

Brittany answered, distracted. "She got really mad at San and left. I don't think she's coming back."

The mask couldn't hide her frown. This crush was more of a nuisance than anything else, lately. Regal and cold, Quinn Fabray never so much as glanced at Rachel during regular classes and barely tolerated her in glee. It was ludicrous to think they might one day stare at each other the way Santana and Brittany did. Rachel shook off the disappointment and decided she needed to cheer up. Pining for googly-eyed infatuation from the artic teen wasn't worth it; Quinn was straight. So, she needed to let go of that late night fantasy and have fun while she could.

Thoroughly converted to the girls' way of thinking, Rachel did her shot. Brittany was right: it wasn't as bad as the first one. She looked between the cheerleaders. They'd moved much closer in past few seconds. It looked like they, too, were about to forget they were in public.

Rachel relieved Brittany of her shot, drank it, then set the small glasses down on the nearby sideboard. Appropriating the flask from Santana was a little less easy, but doable: they just reached the point of not _caring_ about being in public. Amy Winehouse making out with Super Girl was…delectable. Staying to watch would be ruinous to her forbearance. The diva allowed herself the final rush of excitement coursing through her at the sight. Smirking, she took a pull of tequila from the flask then spared one last glance at her sometimes friends before sauntering off through the house, leaving them and Rachel Berry behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Don't Hide Your Love  
><strong>Author:<strong> Frensayce  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Rachel/Quinn  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Everything prior to "The First Time" but kinda AU  
><strong>Disclaimers:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>AN:** Halloween prompt from forever ago. From my livejournal, here for you. :)

She could kill them. She could really kill them. Years of friendship were not enough to pacify the present anger within Quinn Fabray. Tonight was supposed to be fun. Her two best friends convinced her to dress as a themed threesome for Halloween. It'd been Britt's idea and Quinn had been wary because she was not about to put on bellbottoms and be one of Charlie's clichéd Angels. When they told her their plan, though, she'd actually gotten excited.

Brittany loved _The Princess Bride _and wanted to be Buttercup. Santana called dibs on playing the swashbuckling hero, Westley, but her girlfriend shut her down. According to Britt, because San was "Hispanish", it made more sense for her to be Inigo Montoya. And since she'd do anything for Brittany, she agreed. That meant Quinn had to be Westley.

However, Britt was very clear that she couldn't dress as "farm boy Westley."

So, for Puck's Halloween party, Quinn Fabray would go as none other than the character's alter ego, the Dread Pirate Roberts. Because Brittany said so. And whatever Britt said or wanted became Lopez Law.

Adjusting the stage sword she "borrowed" from the drama club's prop closet, Quinn sipped from her blue plastic cup. She'd gotten to the party only to find her best friends abandoned their group plan and arrived in wholly different costumes. It didn't matter if they looked hot and wouldn't care if she spent most of the night covertly ogling them. She was put off from that unusually normal part of their trifecta because she was genuinely hurt at getting ditched. She thought about going home and changing, but she didn't have a backup costume, and if she left it was unlikely she'd come back. Instead, she was outside lazing against the wooden railing of the back deck and dressed as a pirate.

Quinn was a girl, a demure, picture-perfect, stereotypical example of the "pretty girl". She was feminine and loved her sundresses and doing her nails and going shoe shopping. But here she was, clothed from toe to top entirely in black: knee-high leather boots with a low heel, skin tight leggings, a poet's style shirt, and a sash-like belt tied around her midriff, complete with a rapier. The sword had a blunt tip, but she figured out a way to secure it to its sheath so nothing bad happened. She was dumb enough to trust her friends to show up as they promised, but there was no way she was chancing Puck taking the weapon and hurting himself, regardless if alcohol was involved or not. This Captain & Coke needed more rum and less cola if she was going to get through tonight. She was so aggravated she didn't even care that the Coke wasn't diet.

She tugged at the black cord lacing the V cut of her shirt. The leather gloves made her fumble a bit, but it was too cold to take them off. The black bandana keeping her head warm was a bonus, too. She needed to dye her hair again soon. The pink was long gone, but the golden blonde had faded and her original color was coming in. And by "coming in" she meant it had taken over and she'd had to get a shorter cut because the ends looked ridiculous with her mousy brown locks. Now, her hair was the teensiest bit shorter than Sam's had been, but girly. Girly-er, rather.

She was still bummed, though—she really went all out with this costume. The leggings and boots were women's so they fit nice and snug. However, the shirt was a men's and big at the shoulders. But it had a sort of narrowed waist to it so she guessed it wasn't all bad. She snorted into her drink. No, the bad part had been binding her breasts. There wasn't much of a chest to hide ever since the pregnancy was over, but Quinn Fabray didn't do anything half-assed. If that meant hiding the goods then buying Spirit Gum adhesive and a small fake mustache for authenticity's sake, so be it. That's as far as she went for realism, though. It wasn't like she drove out to that store Santana raved about and bought one of those, um, things. A thing she didn't like to think about Santana and Brittany using. The thing she sometimes thought about using with a certain olive skinned brunette who happened to have the greatest voice in the history of everything and invaded her dreams most nights.

Quinn bit her lip. She shouldn't be thinking about any of that because she wasn't supposed to like girls—at all. But they never failed to excite her, Rachel Berry more than any other. And Berry didn't have a clue because Quinn couldn't _do _anything about it.

"S'up, dude."

Quinn jumped at the voice coming from her right. Finn, wearing an old fashioned baseball uniform and cap, joined her against the railing. The pretend Yankee player had a can of Budweiser in one hand, a Louisville Slugger in the other, and a lit cigar clenched between his teeth. Moving away from the stench, she batted at the smoke. Cigarettes smelled so much better.

The large boy rested his beer on the deck rail and took the cigar from his mouth to let out the loudest, nastiest belch she'd ever heard before taking a puff of the "stogie" (as her grandfather called his treasured Havanas) and scratching himself.

She'd dated that. Twice.

His relieved grunt was really the icing on the cake. Men were disgusting. If she wasn't sure that her attraction to women was more than curiosity before, she was now. Santana was right: Quinn Fabray was gayer than gay.

"Gross, Finn."

"Umm, do I know you?"

She gaped at him. He really was that much of a moron. Quinn turned her head away in annoyance then caught her reflection in the darkened pane of glass of the sliding door to the house. The cherry on the end of Babe Ruth's cigar glowed orange and the former cheerleader saw exactly what Finn did.

Her curves were gone. The pants were tight, but the sash belted around her waist in such a way it actually distracted from the size of her hips while her flat chest under the billowy shirt gave nothing away. Then the mask… Damn, she forgot she was wearing it. It was just so frickin' comfortable, and covered more than the Zorro ones she always saw. This was leather and lined with a soft fabric, maybe velvet. It hid not only her eyes, but the span of her face from the tip of her nose and up to meet the bandana, too. She went as far as smearing black eye shadow across her lids to hide the minute amount of skin showing from the holes in her mask.

Quinn gave herself another once over. Her cropped hair added to the illusion, but it was the mustache that completed it. It would throw everyone off and they'd see a guy because they _expected_ to see a guy. And she really did look like one.

A hot guy.

A hot, romantic, pirate guy.

A hot, romantic, pirate guy who could make any woman swoon.

Quinn smirked, an evil idea forming in her mind. This could work to her advantage if she played it just right. And the only people who knew the truth couldn't say anything because they were probably tongue deep in each other's throats by now.

The girl relaxed her stance, recalling the way Puck moved. Since he was here, she could have used Finn as a model, but…no.

"You're the quarterback," she mumbled, adopting a low voice she hoped was passable. "Everybody knows you."

The Sultan of Swat grinned stupidly. "Yeah, it's so cool." He chugged about half of his beer then burped again. No, he didn't recognize her, but was it because he was drinking or just that dumb? In all likelihood it was both.

For once, she really did have the chance to be someone other than Lucy Quinn Fabray. Someone who liked girls and wouldn't be condemned for it, or for acting on it.

"Later, Hudson." She had to get used to the grunting thing, boys did that a lot.

Grinning, the sort of brownish haired teen finished her drink and tossed the empty cup into the flower pot next to her. She brushed off her sleeves then grabbed the hilt of her sword like the badass she was. Quinn felt like misbehaving.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Don't Hide Your Love  
><strong>Author:<strong> Frensayce  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Rachel/Quinn  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Everything prior to "The First Time" but kinda AU  
><strong>Disclaimers:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>AN:** Halloween prompt from forever ago. From my livejournal, here for you. :)

Rachel wasn't the greatest dancer—a fact she was well aware of. She didn't have the hip-hop technique like Mike, or Santana's almost spellbinding seduction, and no one else on Earth could move like Brittany; that girl was in a category all her own. Rachel's dancing was technical and sometimes stilted, usually because of her history of ballet and need for structured choreography. Flawless lines and quiet grace were the frames of her art; she could translate only stories, not feelings. No, her feelings were shared through voice and lyrics, not by the lexis of her body. Unless it was dark. Unless she was alone in a sea of people and no one knew who she was. Like now.

Noah's basement was _dark_. Other than a few colored spotlights surrounding the makeshift dance floor and the fast blinking strobe overhead, it was shadowy and loud and sweltering, the perfect locality to lose oneself. Dancing alone in the throng of costumed young bodies, Rachel felt good. She felt free.

A Playboy Bunny she vaguely recognized as a Cheerio was dancing in front of her, some parts of her swaying and other parts bouncing. Rachel was okay with that. She was even okay when she felt the muscular body of what had to be a football player against her back as the two athletes sandwiched her. She was more excited by the cheerleader, with her blonde hair and flushed skin, but the strength of the body behind her did not go unappreciated. Neither one was who the singer really wanted, however: she wasn't the right cheerleader, and the he wasn't the young man Rachel saw earlier tonight.

_ That_ young man was dressed as a character from probably the greatest romantic movie of all time. She remembered watching it almost as much as she watched _Funny Girl_ and easily identified him as the Dread Pirate Roberts. But that's all she knew him as. From what she could tell, he was lean and tall, close to Sam's height, and moved with a grace she wouldn't have expected from a man. And the sword at his side made him dangerous, adding to his allure. It'd been a long time since she really noticed anyone other than Quinn Fabray, and even longer since she'd noticed a boy. But there was something about the stranger she couldn't ignore. The low pull in her belly when their eyes met was fierce and somehow familiar. There'd been a bit of a distance between them at the time, too. She was heading to the kitchen for more alcohol, and he was leaning against the fireplace near Brittany and Santana. Like every other guy in the room, he'd seemed absorbed in watching the two girls making out on the couch, but the instant Rachel saw him, his head turned toward her as if he knew.

The look was piercing and she swore she actually _felt_ his gaze climb from the tips of her ballet flats up to her eyes like a lover's caress. It was slow and attentive, like he was trying to take in every inch of her. Sadly, it lasted mere seconds until Super Girl's red cape flagged into view when Brittany dragged her girlfriend off the couch and the two sprinted upstairs. She caught his stare multiple times after that—across a room or when they happened to stumble into the kitchen at the same time for refills. Yet something always separated them, like Blaine attempting to hit on him because he "just loved" pirates. Rachel had stopped her snicker by doing another shot. Foppish to the point of absurdity, Captain Hook looked thoroughly pissed at the man who'd caught his boyfriend's attention and poor little Peter Blaine Pan didn't have a clue. The Dread Pirate Roberts, however, shook his head and politely left without a word, but not before shooting a wink toward Rachel. She loved the thrill it'd sent speeding through her. She wanted to feel it again, this time without interruption.

Her dance partners faded into the crowd and Rachel was lost to the music once again, carrying on. Despite lacking more modern dance moves, she had rhythm. It was easy for her to find a tempo and hold it, to rock into it and never let go. She could bend when the music dipped, and float along as it swept her away. And right now, with the thumping bass line in the near blackness of the basement, and what seemed like a hundred hearts drumming with hers, Rachel found her beat as sweat sluiced down her spine and her hair fell from the coiffed bun Kurt had so fashionably styled.

Out of the dark, strong arms wrapped around her waist and a different warmth pressed against her from behind. Her head instantly fell back to rest on a soft shoulder, and her eyes closed as the new arrival met every roll of her body; unknown hands splayed over her stomach, then down to hold her hips. She didn't really care who it was, the shots of tequila had long since dispersed any concern she should have had. Instead, she kept dancing. They moved together, bodies fitted tightly, soft and hard in the all the right places while their heavy breaths matched the music reverberating in their chests. The beautiful thing about common-time rhythm was its primitive nature and how humans were built to respond to it. It was sensual and sincere, it was the instinctive reaction of sex and pleasure, and it was why she was securing a stranger's arms about her middle, relaxing into the foreign but welcome touch.

This was so different than the football player from a moment ago or any other boy before. This felt _right_.

Warm air puffed over the already heated skin of her neck and soft lips grazed kisses across her bare shoulder. She giggled at the tickle of a trimmed moustache then groaned when the identity of her mystery partner dawned on her. Throughout the night she'd only seen one boy with facial hair in that specific style. Grinning, she reached down and grabbed the back of his thigh in encouragement, the muscle flexing under her hand. It worked: the pirate held her closer, grinding now, and Rachel swooned at the sensation of his flat chest plastered to her back.

Biting her lip, she released young man's leg to reach up and catch her hand around the nape of his neck. Short strands of hair inched from underneath his bandana, and she wished to tangle her fingers in the rest of it. She couldn't resist tugging the ends just a little. The harsh grunt in her ear echoed throughout her body, shaking her loose and flooding her panties. One song faded into another and they easily met the downbeat of the increased pace. She couldn't name the synthesized music pouring from the giant speakers around the room because the acceleration of her heart and hips wouldn't let her head remember what she was falling into. She forgot everything that had nothing to do with the man rocking against her.

Teeth nipped behind her ear, and the formerly tame hand on her stomach strayed. She moaned as gloved fingers skimmed the edge of her skirt and those teeth latched on to the back of her neck. She shouldn't be doing this—he was a complete stranger—but she couldn't find the will to give a damn. Nope, it just wasn't there. Tilting her head in invitation, Rachel sighed as he took it, dropping more open mouthed kisses over her shoulder and up her neck. She hissed, her hips snapping backward at the stinging bite to her pulse point.

He moaned, too. It was high, almost a whimper. The timbre of it carried a known husk, but the sheer volume of the music made it impossible to pinpoint. Back arched, her hands fell to grip his forearms for support when his wet lips sealed over her neck and sucked hard, marking her. With the alcohol streaming in her blood and the music pounding her body, Rachel had been aroused before this dance began. Now she was ready to let this stranger take her right here and now. Long digits laced with hers and their joined hands slid up her torso, cupping her breasts then skating back down. Her whine stuck in her throat, and she again dropped her head back, turning slightly to nuzzle into a sweat slicked neck. His skin was so soft, no hint of stubble at all. Was the rest of him this soft? His stupid mask and all their clothes prevented the skin on skin contact she craved and the scent rolling off him intoxicated her better than the tequila. It teased her with its familiarity, which served to frustrate her more before retreating to the far reaches of her mind.

As their hands traveled together all over her body, rubbing lightly down her sides and scraping the tops of her thighs, she did her best to critically assess the situation. Her mind was fuzzy with _Patrón_ and her body hummed with electricity, but she managed to focus on the discovery that she was actually being groped, in public, by a stranger. Worse, she couldn't wait. As those arms returned to her waist, she spun to face him, hoping she wasn't about to scare him away.

This boy was handsome, from what she could see. Beyond handsome. Almost pretty. His eyes were practically black but a hint of green flickered with the strobe light. Rachel trailed her hands up his arms to lock behind his neck. No, he wasn't going anywhere, not without her.

Their dance continued, their new position turning it from risqué to naughty. He managed to wedge his leg in between hers, which was all well and good, until he pulled Rachel down to meet his thigh. She gasped, loud. Immediately, he stilled. Rachel couldn't take it. She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him into a kiss. They restarted their grind while the boy's hand skidded down to her ass and drew her closer, tighter. Their kiss turned rough and hungry. Her tongue delved into his mouth, stealing small groans from the back of his throat. He tasted so sweet, with just the right amount of spice.

How long they stood there kissing in the middle of the dance floor, she couldn't say, but it wasn't nearly enough. There she was, drunk at one of Noah Puckerman's infamous Halloween parties, making out with a strange boy whose hands on her hips encouraged the rocking of their bodies until Rachel couldn't take it anymore. She was burning for him; surely even through their clothing he could feel how wet she was. Needing air, they broke apart and she wasted no time, dragging him by his shirt from the basement to the main floor then upstairs where the bedrooms lived.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Don't Hide Your Love  
><strong>Author:<strong> Frensayce  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Rachel/Quinn  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Everything prior to "The First Time" but kinda AU  
><strong>Disclaimers:<strong> Not mine.

Quinn was confused. There was too much booze in her system to even begin deciphering what exactly was happening. All she'd wanted to do was dance with the girl. She was dark and tantalizing and reminded Quinn of the diva she knew wouldn't be at the party. San said there was no way Berry was showing up after Finn dumped her. Considering Quinn had spent a good portion of tonight looking for her in the dimly lit house and never once heard that distinct, glorious voice, she knew it was true. Then she saw her, this anonymous princess, and was completely mesmerized. She had to get close to her, had to try for something that _Quinn Fabray_ wasn't allowed to have. But those kisses downstairs pushed the boundaries of her bravery about being a boy for the night, and she never intended things to get this far. Now, the hot bodied brunette she'd spotted earlier and watched throughout the night in a totally non-stalker way had her pinned against the door of Mrs. Puckerman's bedroom—from _inside_ Mrs. Puckerman's bedroom—and kissing her as though tomorrow would never come. So, yes. She was very, very confused, but so not going to question it.

Little fists wrinkled her shirt as she held the brunette firmly in her arms, inhaling the mix of cinnamon and vanilla hiding under the thin sheen of sweat on girl's skin. Quinn tried to swallow her whole, tasting not the salt or lime from the shots she'd seen the woman slam, but something so very uniquely her.

She moaned as their grinding resumed. Other than the hilt of the sword digging into her kidney, it felt amazing. She was flush against the door and soft hands wandered her body. This was possibly the dumbest thing she'd ever done, simply a bad idea. She ran her hands over the girl's smooth thighs then up, palming the ass to which she was readily developing an addiction. Oh, this was a terrible, rotten, despicable idea. This girl was probably straight and had no clue that the boy she was gyrating on wasn't a boy at all. Nothing was okay with that deception. But it felt wonderful and she was too drunk to care. Plus, there were still things Quinn could do without that particular male anatomy. After all, it was Halloween: everybody deserved a treat. And it was beyond obvious this girl was agreeable to it. She not only initiated the whole thing, but more importantly, she wasn't saying no. Quinn knew that word better than anyone because she _hadn't_ used it with Puck. If she heard it now, then inebriated or not, she'd stop.

Quinn toyed with the hem of the dress, now kissing up and down the brunette's neck. She pulled back and looked into wide eyes and at a bottom lip trapped by white teeth. That look was so familiar, she thought. The girl's breathing came harsh, her chest and neck were flushed, and she squeezed her legs around Quinn's thigh. She looked like a damsel right out of some trashy romance novel waiting for the dastardly pirate to take her. With her nearly black upswept hair and brown doe eyes, she looked like…like Rachel. Quinn suddenly didn't give a flying fuck about bad ideas or consequences, she needed this. Needed it badly and needed it now.

Flipping their positions, she licked a wide, wet line from the edge of the dress's neckline up to the tip of an ear, exalting in the tremor it drew from the petite woman. The girl's legs were heavenly, God's own artwork but built for nothing but sin. Just like Rachel's. Moans collected in her ears and she closed her eyes, blindly scraping her teeth and tongue along a prominent collarbone. Quinn growled at the taste of flawless skin and the small breasts perking from the corset style bodice. She rucked up the dress, ready to fall to her knees before this goddess.

Two hands cupped her cheeks, halting her descent. She stopped all ministrations and met a black gaze shining with excitement. And lust. Quinn might be considered mostly inexperienced by some, but she recognized desire when she saw it. This princess wanted her. And the pirate wanted this princess. Yes, in her mind, the darker skinned beauty was a stand-in for the girl she'd never have, but that didn't mean Quinn couldn't make it good for her. If anything, that fantasy made her want to be the best this anonymous woman ever had. Her right hand slipped between those glorious legs, just above where the brunette's knees met then dragged upward on its mile-long journey. She watched the masked girl's eyes very carefully for signs of distress, and found none.

In fact, the brunette demanded more, leaning in and kissing her. It was soft, despite how desperate things had gotten. The taller girl melted just a little, again conflicted as whether or not to continue because her unnamed lover thought she was a guy, and honestly, Quinn had no plans to correct that assumption. They wanted each other. They were consenting. And the former cheerleader was too far gone in the dream of Rachel. This was the closest she'd ever get to being with the diva. So yeah, she was going to take it and hold on tight.

The hands stroking her face moved: one to Quinn's shoulder, the other behind her head and tugging at the knot in her bandana and she shook her head. That would ruin everything. Quinn said the only thing she could think of. "Leave it on?"

It was a hoarse whisper, but those eyes she so wanted to be Rachel's softened and agreed. The princess wasn't going to fight to see her face. Maybe she liked the secrecy just as much and rightly so; it was one hell of an aphrodisiac. Quinn was convinced. The desire was mutual.

The brunette kissed her again, greedy. Her hands slid down to Quinn's chest, then paused. Quinn stilled, not daring to breathe as their kiss broke and exploratory passes over her bound breasts, coaxing a moan from her throat. Hazel eyes shot open at the sensation, and her body iced over in terror as the girl pulled away. She was found out. And about to get slapped, probably. Then there'd be screaming.

She waited, but neither came. There were just puzzled eyes, and that citrus flavored mouth pulled into a thin line.

"You're…a girl?" The voice was unrecognizable and so quiet it was almost lost to the background noise of the party below them.

Still, Quinn didn't miss the all-important question. She nodded, admitting her nature in silence. Her heart thudded in her chest, powered by adrenaline and fear. But there was no hand slicing through the air to rebuke her, there was no shout of horror or disgust.

Instead there was a ferocious growl and the brunette attacked her mouth, pawing at her breasts through the layers of fabric. Without breaking the kiss, she grabbed Quinn's hand and tore off the leather glove, then forced it down and underneath her satiny gown.

Quinn groaned into that mouth and pulled away, wishing she could see her whole face. As far as it seemed, Princess was okay with a pirate of the female persuasion. Long legs opened wider, and the girl pressed their joined hands to her damp panties before falling away and letting Quinn take over. Yeah, Princess was fine with this. She focused on the reality of the situation and reveled in how unspeakably powerful she felt in the control she'd just been allowed. And how wet the other girl was. She groaned and pulled aside the flimsy garment, ghosting her fingers up and down the brunette's dripping slit. Good God Almighty, this was amazing. She wanted more.

"Fuck," she whispered under her breath. Stark lust raged back with a vengeance and she shoved the black skirt up farther and pressed her whole hand against the girl's center. The small body shook as Quinn palmed her and the brunette angled back, exposing her neck. Unable to resist, Quinn laved her tongue along the column of that tasty throat.

Finding and circling the hard clit with her thumb, she positioned her fingers at the entrance of the girl's soaking core. Eager hips bucked and Quinn teased along the opening. She dipped a single fingertip in, but the shorter girl hissed, clasping at black-clad shoulders and pushing downward.

Quinn took the hint. It wasn't like it was subtle, either. She dropped to her knees and carried the poor excuse for underwear down and off tan legs. She smiled reassuringly and guided the bottom of the dress higher. However, she was anything but sure. She'd never done anything like this before, and fantasies and choice internet sites did not make her an expert. God, she was barely a novice. But, there'd been _so_ many fantasies, so many nights dreaming of what she and another girl would do. What she and Rachel would do, specifically. Rachel. All Quinn had to do was keep thinking of the person she wanted most and she'd do all right. Hopefully more than. With that thought and the costume up around the girl's waist and exposing her navel, Quinn drew nearer to trail her lips over that sweet expanse of skin. Then she noticed something.

A mole, tiny to the point of almost nonexistence, decorated the tight abdomen in front of her. Just there, on the girl's right hip, was a birthmark. A very telling birthmark she'd seen before. Last year, during the Britney Spears fiasco when a certain diva traipsed around in a skimpier version of her normal schoolgirl attire, Quinn spent the whole day memorizing that toned stomach for inspiration during her solo explorations in the seclusion of her bedroom. And sometimes shower. But this couldn't be.

The taller girl surged to her feet and studied the woman behind the mask. Hazel eyes darted lower and she wrestled down the bodice encasing the breasts she'd barely explored on the dance floor, exposing them. Specifically, the right one. There it was. Another mark, a small dark spot on the top of that perfect breast. Nothing and everything made sense. Brown eyes. Brown hair. Brown skin. Full lips and a square but delicate jaw. She saw it now. Rachel. Disheveled, with heavy-lidded eyes and in all her sexpot glory, stood one very confused Rachel Berry.

Stunned but ecstatic, Quinn was back on her knees and biting her lip as she watched flowing slickness paint strong thighs. Traveling farther north, Quinn dotted tender kisses around Rachel's navel. She tongued at the birthmark and basked in the shiver racing through the singer. Her moan blended with Rachel's, her passion renewed.

She returned to circling the cutest belly button on the planet then toured down a featherlike route leading to the girl's mons. Knowing Rachel did indeed have a line of fine, nearly imperceptible hair, changed every misconception she had about the phenomenon. In fact, Quinn just became a big fan of treasure trails. Grinning, she kissed her way lower, avidly following the path nature provided until she reached her destination. The narrow strip of coarse hair was darker than she would have guessed and finely groomed. She brushed her cheek over the area and sighed in contentment. Not only did Rachel look good, she felt fucking fantastic and smelled even better.

A small hand rest on the top of her head and Quinn directed her gaze up. Rachel's eyes were glassy and her lip worried by her teeth. She looked almost like she wanted to object or tell the former cheerleader she didn't have to do this, just to be polite. But Quinn knew otherwise. She _had _to do this. Part of her felt like she'd die if she didn't. So, she inched forward, tongue extended. Slowly, so slowly it pained her, she tasted Heaven.

She kissed Rachel, slipping her tongue between flushed, puffy folds the way she'd kissed the singer's mouth. There weren't words for this. For how perfect this was. How perfect Rachel was. Quinn bobbed her head, dragging her tongue up and down the length of Rachel's core. Groaning, she watched the girl's chin fall forward and felt a hand clench the hair at the back of her neck. She kept licking. Her tongue parted dark pink lips with ease, scooping as much of the flavor with every pass. Tart. Tangy. Earthy and maybe just a little bit sweet. It lingered on the back of her tongue with each swallow, becoming stronger with each lick. Her teeth skimmed over an enflamed clit, and powerful hips jerked forward. Instinctively, she pulled back to avoid injury.

"Please," Rachel whispered. "Please don't stop."

Quinn moaned. Fuck. Rachel Berry begging was better than Rachel Berry singing. Holding undulating hips with one hand and easily opening wet folds to her surveying mouth with the other, she restarted her journey. She wanted to explore every inch of Rachel. She flicked her tongue over the girl's hard, scarlet-colored clit again and smiled into wet, swollen flesh upon hearing a gasp fall from above her. Proud of herself, Quinn continued and slid her tongue inside Rachel as deep as she could go.

Those hips bucked again, but Quinn was not deterred nor tossed by their stormy behavior. She thrust her tongue in and out, her saliva mixing with the diva's natural liquor and coating her face and chin. It was sticky and messy and she adored every minute of it. She heard Rachel's whines and encouraged her to spread her legs wider. Quinn increased the speed and power of her tongue, finding a pattern. Top to bottom, she licked and sucked as much of that tantalizing skin and delicious wetness as she could but it constantly replenished.

Going down on Rachel Berry was a Sisyphean task. Quinn fucking loved it.

She opened her eyes and saw Rachel with her head dropped forward, escaped chestnut strands curling around her disguised face. If not for those moles on her stomach and breast, Quinn would never have recognized her. She'd never seen Rachel like this, so raw and unrestrained. Her eyes were screwed shut, and the hands in Quinn's hair and on her shoulder flexed as Rachel whimpered with each swipe of her tongue. "Faster. Do it faster."

Being ordered around by Rachel during glee pissed her off to no end. However, she really, _really_ liked it right now. The former cheerleader followed the instruction and sped up. Over and over, faster and faster, she devoured the singer. She enjoyed and savored it, yes, but this was about making Rachel feel good. Quinn hummed into the sensitive flesh and Rachel's legs quivered.

"Oh, yesss..."

The shaking got worse and the hands gripping her hurt, but she refused to stop. With a desperate need to make Rachel come, Quinn sealed her lips around that firm and throbbing clit and sucked. Hard.

"Oh, fuck! There! There! Please there yes!"

Nails raked up her neck and clenched the knotted fabric at the base of her skull. Rachel thrashed against the door and it was all Quinn could do to hold on. Her thumb took the place of her mouth as she thrust her tongue deep inside her dream girl, internally congratulating herself for sending Rachel on her way to the stars. In her moment of glory, as Rachel jerked Quinn's head tighter into her body, she barely registered her mask ripping off. Their eyes locked.

"_Quinn_?"

She didn't stop. She couldn't. Rachel wasn't letting her, refusing to let go. So she worked her mouth faster. Harder. _There_ and everywhere.

"Oh God, QUINN!"

Quakes racked Rachel's body as she flooded Quinn's mouth and down her chin. She shuddered, letting out high pitched screams that dwindled to kitten-like mewls as Quinn licked her clean, never breaking their eye contact. It was intimate. Far more intimate than anything she planned for tonight. But that was when she thought this was a drunken hook up with a random substitute for Rachel. Now it _was_ Rachel. And it wasn't forced, and it didn't make her feel vulnerable like she thought it would. Actually, she felt warm and fuzzy, and a little bit dizzy as she captured the rest of Rachel's essence. Eventually, the brunette pushed her away and collapsed to the floor, weak and trembling. Rachel stared at her with wide, bewildered eyes. Quinn wasn't sure what to do. She was running on pure instinct.

Not bothering to wipe her face, she leaned in and kissed the girl. She didn't try for anything more than a chaste meeting of their mouths and Rachel didn't object. In fact, the singer ran her tongue along the seam of Quinn's lips as if asking for permission.

She submitted and opened her mouth to allow Rachel inside. Pausing their kiss but keeping their lips together, Quinn reached around and carefully untied the elaborate mask the brunette wore. Once removed, she left another hesitant kiss then pulled back. She hovered above the panting girl and searched her face for any regret. Not an ounce of it anywhere.

Just a small, half-smile to match her own.

"Hi."


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Don't Hide Your Love  
><strong>Author:<strong> Frensayce  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Rachel/Quinn  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Everything prior to "The First Time" but kinda AU  
><strong>Disclaimers:<strong> Not mine.

Rachel's mind reeled.

Her heart was racing, its rhythmic thud hurting her ears. But her ears weren't the only parts of her throbbing. Every cell was on alert; veins and nerve endings pulsed quicker and louder than the combined yet competing bass of the different music coming from the floors below. Her body felt like a thunderstorm: the booming in her chest, the deluge between her thighs—even her skin couldn't escape the fearsome aftermath. The hairs on her arms stood at attention and goosebumps spanned the spaces between. It was as though she'd been struck by lightning, and her mind sparking and sputtering like a downed power line in search of a connection. Pronouncing Rachel as thoroughly perplexed would be a gross understatement. In fact, for all her extensive comprehension of the English vernacular, and a number of helpful phrases and terms from a few other languages, she simply could not find the words to describe the extent of her bafflement.

Gloved fingers danced along her cheek, and her face turned to meet her new lover's. A dusting of sobriety settled in, and shyness overcame her. She couldn't believe what just happened. Not only had Rachel been so consumed by lust and uninhibited by alcohol that she'd become captivated by a stranger, but she fully and willingly let herself be taken by said stranger.

And not only was her mystery lover a woman, it was _Quinn_. .Fabray. She couldn't think of one thing to say.

Warm eyes, framed by tawny brown lashes and full of both contentment and apprehension, stared at her while that slightly upturned corner of pink lips quirked a little more.

Words were overrated.

She wove her fingers through short, not-so-blonde hair and pulled Quinn's lips nearer, demanding more of the delicious spiced rum and sugar lacing that very talented mouth. The added flavor of Rachel's own essence rekindled the desire simmering within her. Tongues explored again and again until the need for air drove them apart. The girls' mouths remained close, unable to abandon one another completely. Quinn flattened their foreheads together and Rachel found her voice.

"Hi back."

It was shaky, but considering her body had yet to compose itself, the vibrato was of no great concern. The sporadic spasms between her legs, however, those needed some tending to. But she didn't know if their unveilings meant an end to this liaison, so she looked to Quinn, soaking in the sight of her in the dim lighting pouring through the bedroom windows.

Quinn was pink from the tips of her ears to her chest, partially revealed by the open V of the loose fitting shirt. Her breathing was labored, her skin glistened with sweat, and Rachel could see the blood pumping furiously through the veins at her neck. The diva licked her lips, and hungry eyes tracked her tongue.

"Kiss me again."

Instantly, Quinn swooped down and plundered the recesses of Rachel's mouth. She melted and opened in complete surrender. Well, not complete surrender. She was far too stubborn for that. Quinn groaned and pulled back a little, retreating then advancing in teasing bouts. The diva was also too stubborn to not get as much out of this situation as she could, so she encircled her arms around the taller girl's neck, keeping her in place while she swept into that mouth and took what she wanted. Now that this fantasy was a reality, she was going to see it through. And she couldn't do that if Quinn changed her mind and ran away.

Her worry of Quinn rethinking this encounter dissolved the moment her mouth fell to Rachel's neck and her hands returned to her dress, this time dipping into her gown to tease stiff and aching nipples. The contradicting sensations of warm skin on one breast and smooth leather on the other were simultaneously inconceivable and spectacular.

"Oh God."

Unable to do anything else, Rachel arched her back, pushing her chest into Quinn's hands and reveling in the throaty growl it procured. Hazel eyes gave way to a rich emerald gaze full of lust, and a little bit of something else she couldn't name shone brightly. It was almost frightening seeing Quinn so open and authentic in her emotions. She was vulnerable, exposed. And so beautiful.

The brunette was overwhelmed with the urge to expose more of her.

However, the pain and pleasure of tapered fingers pinching and rolling her nipples jetted straight to her clit and Rachel lost all coherent thought. Her head proved too heavy to hold up and slumped back, baring her neck to Quinn's mouth. Burning hot though she was, Rachel shivered as a wet tongue flicked over her collarbone. The grip she had on Quinn's hair turned severe and she pulled.

"Ouch. Jesus, Rachel." Quinn scolded her then yanked the top of her dress down farther to free her breasts completely, and her mouth replaced her fingers.

"Unnh!" Rachel's hands again tightened in Quinn's hair, drawing a grumble from the girl's throat. "Sorry," she gasped. "Didn't mean to hurt _yo–oww!_"

The introduction of teeth upon her breasts shocked her and she impelled her lover's mouth away.

"What was that, payback?" She hoped Quinn knew she wasn't being particularly serious. Yes, the bite hurt, but it was also kind of sexy.

That famous Fabray smirk played at pink lips. "Maybe. Don't pretend you don't like it, Berry."

"That better not be the name you scream later." The harshness of her voice surprised even her. As a result, she softened, soothing her fingers through the fluffy, golden-brown mane and smiling at the silly looking girl. "Nice 'stache by the way."

The sight of a cross-eyed Quinn was adorable as the intrepid pirate tried to look at the prosthetic facial hair. The actress traced her finger over it, shaking her head. It was a good fixture, that was clear, and there was no way it was coming off tonight. Not unless they decided to break up their little party and go searching for a solvent. The idea of Quinn smelling like rubbing alcohol was reason enough to ignore the accoutrement for now. As perhaps uncouth as it was to say, smelling her own arousal on Quinn was much more preferable. Not to mention incredibly erotic.

Fair cheeks blushed, but their owner shrugged with feigned apathy. "Go big or go home, I guess."

"Hmmm." Rachel's finger traveled up and down the bridge of a flawless nose then over sculpted eyebrows. She was so absorbed in the journey she didn't notice how cold the floor was until a shiver raced through her. Glancing at the bed only a few yards from them, the brunette made a decision. "Does that philosophy extend to present circumstances?"

Quinn's brow furrowed with incomprehension. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Rachel began, unsure how to put it tactfully. "When I imagined this, there was usually a bed involved."

"Oh really?" A devilish grin appeared and Quinn leaned in, nibbling the shell of Rachel's ear. "And just what else have you imagined, Miss Berry?"

"Less clothing." Brown eyes bugged out. Alcohol had a funny way of taking over her mouth.

Quinn's method was better.

Their lips met, and again the brunette was lost to the pleasure of it all. Rare was the occasion Rachel Berry gave in to her baser instincts, but rarer still were the moments someone made her want to. She felt unhinged. Indeed, she'd go as far to say she was positively wanton.

Her hands threaded through soft locks. Her previous orgasm had sobered her enough to realize what was happening, but also left her drowning in the intoxicating element known as Quinn Fabray and never wanting to resurface. In Quinn's arms and drunk on the need in those green eyes, Rachel yielded to her new addiction.

Pushing and rolling, pulling and grinding, the girls switched positions through Rachel's determination to slake her craving. On top of the woman in black, she captured Quinn's mouth and rocked their hips together. The supine girl moaned and grabbed her waist, securing Rachel closer and increasing the force of their movements.

The brunette broke their kiss with a gasping pop. "Bed?"

"Are you sure about this?"

"Bed, Quinn."

The two were on their feet, shedding clothing in the short walk to the California king centered behind them. Rachel made quick work of the sash about Quinn's waist then lifted the baggy shirt halfway off before the sword and scabbard clattered to the floor.

The pirate was left in a black athletic tank, showing off feminine biceps chiseled by years of gymnastics and cheerleading as she bungled up the knotted stays of Rachel's corset. "_How_ did you get this on?"

"Carefully." The brunette took Quinn's hand and pulled off the single remaining glove. "And unimpeded."

They disrobed each other quickly, biting and kissing newly revealed skin until both were naked before she pushed the blonde to the bed and straddled her waist. Her eyes roamed over the excruciating beauty beneath her. She smirked. Quinn was definitely not a natural blonde, not that Rachel every really thought otherwise. She allowed her gaze to linger as a rosy tint spread over fair skin then frowned at the marks left by the ACE bandage she'd just unwound from about Quinn's chest, used to bind her breasts. Rachel dipped her head and extended her tongue, soothing and lapping at the angry crimson lines, then swirling over to circle stiff nipples.

Quinn hissed through her teeth and arched into Rachel's mouth. Her hands gripped the bedspread instead of clawing at the girl atop her—who moved away just enough to speak.

"You can touch me, if you want."

She nearly came. Right then. The hesitance paired with undeniable need in the singer's voice almost sent her over the edge. One hand grasped at the dark tresses falling from a haphazard bun, anxious to free it all. She sat up, taking Rachel with her and already finding and removing bobby pins like an expert. They were the tools of her trade; most of Quinn's daily hairstyles required a few of the metal fashion minions. Lush curls tumbled down brown-skinned shoulders, resting on the tops of tantalizing breasts. She swore Rachel was sex incarnate. Sex and passion and desire all in one divine package.

"Gorgeous," she whispered, kissing away the blush suffusing the goddess's cheeks. She wrapped one arm around the girl's waist and used the other to steady them as she moved backward on the bed, ushering them under the covers. Speed was not the name of the game. She wanted to take her time. Rachel had other ideas.

Shoved flat on her back and victim to the most talented mouth on Earth, Quinn relinquished any kind of control and opened to Rachel in every way she could. The diva settled between her legs and into her bones. Their centers met, and both moaned. Rachel gave out a kind of whimper while Quinn's utterance could only be categorized as a growl. A low, harsh growl that made her sound like an animal. It must have triggered something inside the diva because their hips joined tightly and rolled over and over as the smaller girl took charge. Quinn's leg's opened more, her arousal mixing with her lover's instead of merely streaming between her thighs. Ever the opportunist, Rachel increased their speed and force. Faster and harder with each grind, she had Quinn coming in heartbeats while following right behind. That was too quick. Quinn needed more.

She seized Rachel's right hand and brought it to her lips, kissing each fingertip and the expanse of a soft palm. In a moment of impromptu boldness (much like all of her night consisted of thus far), she licked the length of Rachel's middle and ring fingers.

"Not that you'll need it, but…" Quinn took the two digits into her mouth and sucked, sure to leave a glossy coating of saliva on them before guiding them downward. She positioned them at her dripping entrance, and no, the additional wetness from her mouth really, really wasn't necessary. Brown eyes turned completely black, pupils blown, and Rachel's lips moved soundlessly.

The taller teen smiled shyly but maintained eye contact as a single finger finally sank inside her. A girlish gasp of surprise escaped her and now it was Rachel who growled, once again capable of speech.

"Oh…Quinn."

The diva felt liquid silk displace and spill out around her hand as she pushed deeper. There were no adequate words to describe the enormity of the moment or how literally _awesome _her world just became. Nothing but a feeble, "So good."

Short, barely there thrusts were all the brunette could manage as she balanced on her free arm and rocked into Quinn at a leisurely pace, staying as close as possible. She situated herself atop a milky white thigh then slipped forward and nuzzled her nose along a smooth cheek. Her lips traced over a soft ear lobe and a shudder ripped through her at the sound of the former cheerleader's gasp as she added a second finger.

Velvety walls seized her invading fingers and she moaned, knowing for sure that the other girl just ruined her for anyone else. She wanted more, wanted all Quinn had and wanted to make her feel what Rachel felt any way she could.

"Is this okay?" Tentatively, Rachel curled her fingers against a rounded bump of flesh.

Quinn's back bowed. "Oh God, so fucking good…"

That broken whimper snapped the timid leash reining Rachel back, and the green-eyed girl cried out as all gentleness and hesitation ceased. Another day Rachel would take her time to thoroughly explore and investigate the secrets of the glorious body pressed against hers, but right now, she just needed to fuck Quinn Fabray unconscious.

"Rach…please." Quinn must've needed it, too.

Rachel pressed her forehead against her lover's and their eyes locked. "Please what, Quinn?"

"Baby," Quinn whined. "Fuck me. Just fuck me."

Whether from the whispered endearment or the vulgar plea, the brunette went into frenzy. Her nostrils flared and need coiled her insides. Two fingers slammed into the taller girl without pretense and she caught the ensuing scream in a kiss. The girl moaned and thrust brutally but Rachel didn't falter. It was ludicrous to think that Quinn wanted this, the former Cheerio captain really wanted McKinley's social pariah to take her so wildly. But seeing the disheveled mop of sandy blonde hair and heavy-lidded eyes and feeling the eager roll of her hips would have convinced anyone. Rachel rotated her hand and pointed her fingers downward, like she was aiming for Quinn's lower back, and plunged deeper.

"Oh _GOD_!"

Rachel hammered into that tight core at an almost violent pace. It was fast and bruising and the headboard knocked the wall with every thrust. Each time her fingertips bumped against Quinn's cervix, the girl squealed and her arms constricted around Rachel's neck and shoulders, forcing their lips together. Rachel pushed her tongue deep into Quinn's mouth, desperate to get inside the girl every way she could.

Gasping, neither woman could hold the kiss for long. Quinn dropped flat to her back and gripped the pillow under her head. She raised her knees and Rachel sank deeper.

Quinn begged incoherently. "It's… I'm… More—harder, please just fuck me harder."

Immediately, Rachel did. She added a third finger and Quinn squeezed, trapping her. Still, she moved. Rachel's arm felt like a battering ram and her muscles burned from exertion, but the softness of Quinn's body and the sounds of pleasure escaping her lips fueled her on. She turned her wrist and hooked her fingers up once more.

Quinn gasped. The muscles in her neck corded and she arched up, arms still clinging to Rachel. The singer kept their rhythm, fingers drumming against the thrilling spot inside her lover. In. Up. Out. Over and over until that gorgeous body tightened then collapsed lifelessly to the mattress.

For a split second Rachel worried she'd passed out and the fear of having to explain why Quinn Fabray was lying naked and unconscious in Noah's mother's bed with Rachel Berry vied with the extreme, smug pride the diva felt at knowing exactly why Quinn was naked and unconscious. Rachel grinned to herself. However the mental soundtrack of vociferous applause failed to drown out the pitiable whimper when her fingers made to pull out from their tight confines.

"Stay," Quinn rasped. "Please stay." She sounded broken, as if Rachel's fingers were all that held her together.

Acquiescing because she wasn't sure she could stand to separate either, she left her fingers buried. The young woman twitched a bit, but Rachel was there with calm and tenderness. She rose up a little, but refused to detach from the girl she still craved. Scaling the incline of that lithe body, Rachel explored the landscape she'd bypassed earlier, swiping and sucking at sweaty skin as she journeyed up and down, smiling and nipping at the taut abdomen still shaking with pleasure. Kisses paved the way to Quinn's mouth, yet Rachel paused over a flushed sternum, drawing tiny stars with the pointed tip of her tongue. She kissed and licked up the swan-like neck and kissed behind a sensitive ear, only then did she taste the tears that flowed back into honey-gold hair.

"Quinn?" The lack of response worried her and she eased out much slower than she'd entered.

Closed eyelids fluttered as though attempting to open, and Quinn released a groan Rachel didn't know how to interpret before her labored breathing evened and her body relaxed. Now, she was out, gone from consciousness. The singer stroked damp hair and murmured nonsensical things as she absorbed every quake and shudder rippling through the athletic body in her arms.

Her lips moved, barely millimeters, pressing the tiniest kiss to the underside of Quinn's jaw. She arranged the bedcovers around them and curled up next to the sleeping beauty while the party below carried on. The had night turned out very differently than originally planned, but looking at the slumbering form bedside her made her think that maybe she should do something nice for Kurt and Tina as a "thank you" for ruining her dress and attracting the attention of the Dread Pirate Quinn. Rachel sighed and rested her head next to her lover's, worn-out but wondering how they were going to get that silly mustache off in the morning.

end.


End file.
